Cut
by Perfect by Nature
Summary: ONE-SHOT!Hermione died six months ago and Harry still doesn't know what to do with himself. Ron lives in a world of grief and no one understands Harry... how can he deal with the pain and grief?


**Cut by PerfectByNature**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the characters depicted in this fic. The wonderfully talented J.K.Rowling owns it all.

**Summary: **Hermione died six months ago and Harry still doesn't know what to do with himself. Ron is in a world of his own grief, so Harry is all alone, what can he do to relieve the pain?

**Pairings: **(implied) Harry/Hermione, Harry/Parvati

**Categories: **self-harm, romance

**Rated: **R for self-harm, and language.

"Oh, god… oh, yes… that feels good… oh…"

Hands moved over naked flesh, pressing, stroking.

He sighed with relief as the warm liquid ran down his leg.

Harry grimaced as he pushed the razor deeper into his inner thigh, relishing the feel of the blade slicing through his skin and the hot blood coursing down in little rivers.

It was his favorite thing, to sit in the bathtub of his private Head Boy rooms and press the cool metal into his skin. Sometimes he used the blunt side, when he really hated himself and everyone because it was so much more painful.

He preferred cutting his thighs sometimes because, well, it wasn't easily seen but also because it hurts so much more… he loved the pain.

That's also why he got into fights. When he felt fists punch his face, breaking the skin and the blood poured down his face, he was in heaven.

He would savor the pain, tell everyone he was all right, no, he didn't need the school nurse, and he would go to his rooms and would prod the wounds, and sometimes punch himself in them, and oh, god, it would hurt so much tears would pour down his face… it felt so good.

And no one ever knew. No one had any idea, of course not, why would they, without Her... Hermione there to point it out to them and Ron was too wrapped up in his own grief for her he wouldn't have noticed if Harry cut himself to pieces in front of him.

And Ron never cared about anyone other than himself. He hadn't even noticed in the year or so before she died that she and Harry were sleeping together. . Other people noticed but seeing as no one pointed it out to Ron, he had absolutely no idea and would follow Hermione around like a puppy. And Hermione never wanted to hurt him, that's why they never told him. they tried not to touch each other in public and that was part of the reason that it was so good when they finally did get together wherever they could, telling Ron they were studying so there was no chance he'd want to come.

Harry was sometimes amazed at how stupid his friend was.

"No, don't think bad thoughts about you 'friend'." Harry admonished himself and cut the razor deeper into his thigh to punish himself.

When Hermione died six months ago Harry hardly knew what to do with himself, he just couldn't seem to deal with the grief, the pain.

But then one day he remembered a movie he watched with Hermione that last summer. It was called Thirteen and he remembered how they main character cut her wrists to deal with her pain… so he tried it.

God, the relief he felt as the sharp edge sliced thought the semi-translucent skin of his wrists. Then he tried other place, testing the pain, his own barriers.

Sometimes it was all he could do to stay in class when he was reminded so often of Hermione. So he'd rush back to his rooms desperately digging his fingernails into his skin to suppress cries of anguish that fought to free themselves. On really bad days when he'd made the relieving cut he'd find large chunks of skin under his nails and see the deep gouges in his arms, it would surprise him, he hadn't even felt it at all.

Suddenly he heard knocking on the outer door of his rooms.

"Shit!" Harry dropped the razor and stood up. The room spun and he almost slipped in the blood pooling in the bottom of the tub. He looked down and saw that he'd lost a lot of blood. He shook his head and grabbed a towel to stem the flow and wipe the blood off his legs.

"Just a minute!" he yelled at the person outside. He grabbed his outer robe and slung it over his naked body and wiped his feet quickly before going out.

He opened the door. "Parvati. Hi"

"Hi, Harry. What are you up to?"

"Oh, I'm just doing some reading. What about you?" he strained to remain polite.

"Well, I was just wondering if we could talk."

"Talk? Um, ok, come on in. I've just got to go to the bathroom. Just a minute." Harry rushed into the bathroom and poured water into the bathtub to wash away the blood and then he checked his legs and feet. The razor wounds were still bleeding so he grabbed some bandages and wound them around his thighs.

He went back into the lounge room where Parvati was sitting on the couch.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Harry asked.

"Oh, um… well, look Harry, I know that you're upset about Hermione, I mean, I can understand it maybe more than others." Harry felt confused for a moment then remembered that Padma had died only a couple of days after Hermione.

"Yeah, well, it was almost six months ago. I'm trying to get over it. I know it wouldn't be as easy for you."

"Mmm." Parvati smiled sadly. "I just wanted you to know that I'm here for you. I know that you and Ron haven't been close since…" She moved a bit closed. Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"We haven't been close for longer than that, Parvati. He never understood me like she did. No one did, does. But now she's gone and I have to do what I can to get over her. Being alone makes it easier." that wasn't entirely true but he just wanted her to go. All this talk of Hermione was clawing at his chest, squeezing his heart. Harry felt a bit woozy.

"Harry, Harry, are you ok? You just went really pale." Parvati looked worried.

"I'm fine, Parvati. I really want to be alone. I have a lot of homework to do." That was definitely not true, he did his homework with fanatical exactness as soon as he got it everyday and would then go cut himself to relieve the pain. His grades had gone up dramatically since Hermione died, because he actually did his homework and he would try really hard at it. It helped to keep people off his back too, because if he slacked off they'd think it was because she died and would try to counsel him… And he just couldn't take that.

"Ok, well… Oh, Harry, I know you miss her but I just can't believe you're so blind! Can't you see that I'm crazy about you? We could help each other with the pain..." Parvati moved closer and put her hand on his.

"I can't." Harry felt his eyes tear up. "I'm not ready, I can't." he said helplessly.

Parvati let out a deep breath. The look of infinite sadness on her face almost made him want to break down and cry in her arms.

"Ok, but Harry, I know. Ok? Do you understand? I know." She glanced at his robe-covered wrists. Then she got up and almost ran to the door.

Harry stared after her. What did she mean, she knew?

"Wait!" he called as she pulled the door closed behind her. She pushed it back open. "What do you mean, you know?"

"I know that you cut." She moved into the room, closing the door behind her. " I do, too. It helps doesn't it?" she pulled up the sleeve of her robe and the long sleeved top she had on underneath up to her elbow. Harry could see the criss-cross of scars marring the soft white skin of her arm. In an almost dreamlike trance Harry pulled up the leaves of his robe. There were a lot more fresh ones on his arms than Parvati's.

"Yes. It does help."

"I know you think that no one knows. I don't think anyone else knows but anyone who cuts would know straight away that you do. You have that pale, empty look on your face. You've been cutting tonight haven't you? You look like I feel just after I've been at it." Harry wordlessly pulled up the hem of his robe to reveal the bloodied bandages. Parvati gasped.

"How long have they been bleeding like that?" she asked worriedly. "No, wonder you look so pale, you've lost a lot of blood. You shouldn't cut so deep, you'll kill yourself doing that."

Harry just looked at her.

"Oh, Harry, I know it hurts but you're only young. You have your whole life ahead of you. It hurts now but in time the pain will fade. You'll be able to forgive her soon."

"Forgive her? Why would I need to forgive her?"

"For dying. I couldn't forgive Padma for the longest time for leaving me alone here. And sometimes I hate her for going; I just need to keep forgiving her. That's what you need to do, Harry."

Suddenly Harry could see how beautiful Parvati really was. Her long dark hair cascaded down her back in shimmering waves in the soft light and her skin glowed.

He leant over and kissed her. It was a soft melding of lips and tongue as he pulled her closer to him.

She put her arms around his neck and kissed him back deeply.

Her soft hair brushed his fingers where they rested on her waist and it jolted him a little, reminded him of what he was doing.

He pushed his thoughts from his mind, pulled his wand from his pocket and cast a cushioning spell on the floor.

Parvati moaned as he moved his mouth from hers and kissed a trail down her neck. Then she pulled back and slid down onto the cushiony carpet and drew Harry down on top of her.

They kissed again, pulling at each other's clothes, slowly and awkwardly undressing each other. They kissed, sucked and licked at each other's skin with an almost desperate quality.

Later Harry lay with Parvati's head on his chest feeling empty and sad. Their vigorous sex had reopened some of his cuts but he welcomed the pain and so had she, licking the blood from his skin, which in an odd way turned him on.

But what had he done?

Hermione had only died six months ago and here he was having sex with a girl he hardly knew or liked.

Harry felt sick at himself, he felt as thought he'd betrayed the girl he loved.

He gently pushed Parvati over; she stirred slightly then cuddled up to a pillow. He got up, staggered slightly, still a bit lightheaded from blood loss and not just a little sore from the evening's events and made his way to the bathroom.

He washed his face and hands in cold water then looked at himself in the mirror. All he could see was a traitorous coward.

"You bastard, you stupid fucking bastard, Potter." He sneered at himself.

He staggered to the bathtub and slid down into it. Something pressed painfully into his butt and he shifted and pulled out the razor.

"Oh, Hermione, I miss you so much." He whispered. "I need you. I need your intelligence, your tranquil beauty, I need you." He cried softly and pressed the razor into his wrist. He thought he heard a noise outside the bathroom and jumped, the razor sliced deeper into his wrist than he intended and he hissed in surprise. He must have hit a vein, a lot of blood came pouring out.

But he made no attempt to stem the flow; instead he sliced again, close to the first one then again the other way criss-crossing the cuts.

Then he did the other one and flexed his hands.

Then he remembered that the blood moved faster if you moved around. He cut his wrists up a little more; they now looked like nothing more than bloodied ribbons of flesh. Then he got up, he swayed, unsteady and stepped carefully out of the bath and walked around a little. He could feel his lifeblood pumping out of him at an alarming rate and it dripped onto the floor.

After a couple of minutes walking he found he could no longer stand and slipped into the bath.

"Hermione, my love… I'm coming."

_Fin_


End file.
